


Fates II: Freeing Naboo

by Mengde



Series: Sith Apprentice: Darth Venge [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Sith Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mengde/pseuds/Mengde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Venge knows that Amidala, her Jedi, and her army are anticipating a fight when they mobilize against Theed.  And he plans to give them one.</p><p>The trick is that he's not going to give them the fight they expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Venge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Re-Entry Official Timeline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/913029) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 



> Hi, I'm Mengde! Continuing in the vein of Sith Obi-Wan and Jedi Maul, here's the Battle of Naboo! Sith Obi-Wan - Darth Venge - is a creation of flamethrower, and this piece (along with the others in this series) is inspired by her original idea.
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Kenobi said.

He was lounging sideways in the Naboo throne, head on one armrest and legs slung over the other.  He had, in fact, been thinking about having a nap.

Then Nute Gunray had stormed in, demanding to know what Kenobi had planned for the army marching on Theed.  His exact words had been, “What do you intend to do?  Will you lead our army and crush them yourself?”

The look on the unctuous Neimoidian’s face when Kenobi told him no was worth the effort of opening his eyes.

“What?” Gunray snapped.  “You, you must do _something!_ ”

“In point of fact I _need_ do _nothing_ ,” Kenobi replied, letting just a hint of threat creep into his voice.  “Lord Sidious told _you_ to wipe them out.  _I_ merely happened to be present.”

“But who knows what the Queen might be bringing to bear?  All her remaining ground forces, certainly, and her Jedi, and –”

Kenobi closed his eyes again, already tiring of the conversation.  Gunray was as cowardly as he was stupid.  He didn’t know how Sidious managed to put up with the Neimoidians.

“First of all, Viceroy,” he cut Gunray off.  “I can sense your skittering little thoughts from here.  You’re afraid of losing the investment your droid army represents.  Penury is not a virtue in warfare. 

“Second, a simple strategic analysis would tell you even with all her ground forces, the Gungan army, and her Jedi, she can’t go toe-to-toe with your droids and win.  The fact that your pathetic little brain is incapable of even such a basic analysis _would_ surprise me – except I have known you for longer than an hour, and hence I have no expectations of anything but incompetence.

“Third, given that analysis, the function of the army is obvious.  It is marching to draw out _our_ army so the Queen and a small, secondary force can stage a commando raid on Theed and capture you, to force you to agree to a withdrawal.  And, as I have known you for longer than an hour, I have no doubt that the second someone waves a blaster in your face you will agree to literally _anything._ ”

It was at this point that Gunray opened his mouth to speak.  Kenobi decided after an instant’s deliberation that the Viceroy was unlikely to have anything of worth to offer, so he vised the Force around the Neimoidian’s windpipe.  The sight of Gunray gagging and clutching at his throat was immensely gratifying.

“So,” Kenobi continued, loudly enough for Gunray to hear over the sounds of his own choking.  “Given this information, we are going to do the unexpected.”  He released Gunray in anticipation of the obvious question.

The Neimoidian immediately fell to all fours, breaths heaving in and out of him.  He took a pathetically long time to recover, given how short a period Kenobi had actually spent choking him.  When he got to his feet, outrage blazed in his insect eyes, but a look at Kenobi’s face brought him back to a state of fear.

Finally, he asked the question.  “What is that?”

Kenobi grinned, letting the Dark Side show in the yellow glow of his eyes.

“We surrender.”

* * *

The decoy Queen, the two Jedi, the security chief, and the Gungan general looked mistrustful as they entered the throne room.  Kenobi could hardly blame them.

The decoy and chief’s mistrust hardened into anger when they saw him lounging in the throne.  That was good, exactly as anticipated.  Anger would cloud their judgment, make it harder for them to see the net as they stepped into it.

“Master Qui-Gon,” he called with a grin.  “So good to see you again.  We never did get to finish our conversation.”

The big man gave him an unreadable look.  “Bold of you to appear like this,” he said.  “The Sith are not known for bravery.”

“Surely you can sympathize with a fellow maverick,” Kenobi laughed.  He turned his attention to the Zabrak apprentice, Maul.  “Has it been difficult, having a Master who is all but ignored by the Jedi Council?”  Before Maul could form an answer he looked at the decoy Queen, who stood tall and regal in her makeup and combat gear.  “I extended an offer to treat with the Queen of Naboo,” he said.  “I’m somewhat insulted she didn’t deign to come herself.  Or does she not care about the fate of her world?”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Maul visibly summoning his calm, which was good.  That comment had gotten under his skin.  For her part, the decoy had good training, but to Kenobi’s keen perception her reaction was as obvious as if he had physically struck her.

“She is authorized to speak for the Queen,” Panaka spoke up after a tense, silent moment.  “You may treat with her.”

Kenobi cocked an eyebrow.  Panaka was clearly carrying an earpiece or other unobtrusive link to the real Queen.  Good.  This was as expected.

“Then let us begin negotiations,” Kenobi said.  “As the officially sanctioned representative of the Trade Federation, I call a start to these proceedings.”  He gestured for the five to sit in the chairs circling the central dais in front of the throne.  They did so, albeit reluctantly.

He looked at the false Queen, pointedly ignoring the stares of the two Jedi.  “Our terms are simple.  The Trade Federation withdraws completely from Naboo.  Your contract with them for the distribution of Naboo’s plasma is dissolved; you may seek alternative shipping services for the export of your product.  The Trade Federation will put in writing a statement of non-interference; it will never return here.

“In exchange, Naboo will seek no punitive measures against the Trade Federation for the occupation of your world.  You will not lobby against the Federation in the courts or in the Senate.”

“Outrageous,” the faux-Queen said, every bit as imperious as the real thing.  “Naboo is owed justice for the thousands who have died in the inhuman conditions of the Federation’s concentration camps.”

Panaka leaned over to whisper in her ear.  Kenobi hid his smile.  _By all means keep relaying information from the real Queen._

After a moment’s conference, the decoy said, “Pursuant to that end, if we are not to seek justice in the courts, we would require the Federation to compensate the citizens of Naboo – human and Gungan alike – for the grievances it has inflicted upon them.”

“Compensation is out of the question,” Kenobi parried smoothly.  “The Federation already stands to lose billions in plasma revenue – billions which will go instead to Naboo.  Let that be your recompense.”

The decoy gripped the armrests of her chair, knuckles white.  “The Federation cannot expect to invade a world, kill its citizens, and then make everything right with the dissolution of a contract that was already exploitative in the extreme!”

“They can indeed expect that.  The Federation still holds your world at blaster-point, ‘Your Highness.’  It is only negotiating to avoid further loss of life and property, particularly the kind of loss sustained in a protracted siege.”  Kenobi raised an eyebrow.  “Which, given that the Viceroy is no longer on-planet, is the only way for you to win back Theed, to say nothing of the rest of the world.”

Panaka leaned over to whisper in the decoy’s ear one more time, and at that instant Kenobi felt the commlink in his robe buzz.  He hid his smile.  A minute more, perhaps two.

The decoy straightened in her seat.  “A public apology by Lott Dodd and Nute Gunray before the Senate, then.”

Kenobi twitched his lips into a smirk.  “I am willing to agree to that, if only because I love to watch Neimoidians grovel.”  He raised a hand as the decoy was about to speak.  “But the apology will be for the disruption in trade caused by the blockade and invasion.  Not for any Naboo who allegedly died in these supposed camps.”

Maul bristled and opened his mouth to speak, but Qui-Gon stopped him with a look.  Panaka and the decoy conferred more.  For his part, Kenobi sat back, happy to let them waste time so he didn’t have to.

His commlink buzzed again, this time continuously.  With theatrical finality he pulled it out and thumbed it on.  “Captain?” he asked, holding the device where everyone could see it.

“The trace was correct,” the voice of one of the battle droid captains came from the commlink’s speaker.  “We have recaptured the Queen.”

Both Jedi surged instantly to their feet, but the hidden wall niches Kenobi had had installed were already sliding down at his mental command.  The droidekas concealed within strode out, all six of them leveling their blaster arms at the Jedi.

The Gungan general took one look at them and fainted.

“It was wise of you to keep the real Queen hidden,” Kenobi said, smiling amiably.  “But unwise to have a comm channel open to her, even one rerouted dozens of times. There is an enormous supercomputer on the control ship still in orbit.  The only surprise here was just how long it took to trace her signal.”

“Release Her Highness immediately!” Panaka growled, his eyes flashing.

“I will be happy to do so once she signs the treaty ceding Naboo and its plasma reserves to the Trade Federation.”

“She’ll never do that!”

With a sigh, Kenobi levered himself out of the throne.  “Captain, establish holographic contact with the throne room,” he said into the commlink.  “There’s something the Queen needs to see.”

A moment later the holoprojector built into the room’s central dais flickered to life with an image of the real Queen.  White-faced but resolute, Padme Amidala regarded him steadily.  “Your underhanded tactics do you no credit,” she said to him.  “I will not sign the treaty.”

Kenobi shrugged.  “Nor do I expect you to.  Certainly not _now._   But I hope that I might persuade you, against all odds.”  He circled around behind Panaka, then casually delivered a savage kick to the back of the security chief’s left knee.  He went down with a pained grunt.  Maul twitched again, but the droidekas swiveled their arms toward him and he fell perfectly still.

Moving to Panaka’s side, Kenobi placed a hand heavily on his shoulder to keep him down on one knee.  He let one of his lightsabers fall into his other hand from inside his sleeve.  Holding the weapon where Amidala could see it, he made a show of contemplating the silvery hilt.

“Did you know,” he said to her, “that the actual cutting surface of a lightsaber is nearly microscopic?  Much of the damage done by the blade is a result of its incredible heat, and that heat’s effect on, for example, living tissue.”

He ignited the weapon, the crimson blade extending in a flash.  Making unceasing eye contact with Amidala, Kenobi moved the weapon sight unseen so its glowing point hovered a bare inch from Panaka’s right eye.

“The heat is quite contained by the blade’s confinement beam,” Kenobi went on.  “Even at this distance, the good Captain shouldn’t be experiencing any discomfort.”  He paused, then amended, “At least not any _permanent_ discomfort.  Tell me, is it true that they call him ‘the quickest eyes on Naboo?’”

Amidala held his gaze.  “Captain Panaka knows his duty.  I will not be intimidated like this.”

“Do your worst,” Panaka agreed vehemently.

Sighing, Kenobi let his blade fall away from the man’s face and removed his hand from his shoulder.  “I see.  Your backbone is impressive, Your Highness.”  He moved away from the security chief, waiting until he saw the barest hint of relief work its subtle way into Amidala’s expression.

In one sudden motion he whirled the lightsaber around, spinning himself in a circle on his heels.  Panaka’s body slumped to the floor.

His head rolled to a stop right in front of the holoprojector.

Amidala’s cry of agonized denial was immensely satisfying.  Qui-Gon had to physically restrain Maul to keep the Zabrak from leaping into an attack and consequently being butchered by the droidekas.

“I must admit there is a certain symmetry to the head of security losing his own,” Kenobi remarked idly.

“Monster!” the decoy Queen spat at him.

He turned to face her.  “I may have wielded the blade and determined its target, but the good Captain’s death was not _my_ fault.”  He gestured at Amidala with his lightsaber blade, continuing, “The fault is _hers_.  If she had signed the Federation’s treaty, he would still be alive.  So would the thousands of Naboo who died in Federation camps – pardon me, _allegedly_ died.”  He took a heavy step toward the decoy.

“Will your death be her fault too?”

He raised his saber, and in that instant he heard a peculiar noise, or rather the sudden absence of one.  The droidekas naturally gave off sound even at rest – the hum of shields, the whir of servomotors.  Those sounds were suddenly absent.

Feeling the Force blazing a warning at him, Kenobi turned.  His gaze, sweeping over the destroyers, revealed they had gone inactive.  In the holo of Amidala, too, he could see the limp form of the droid captain.

And at the completion of his turn, he could see the Zabrak leaping at him.

Kenobi got his lightsaber up just in time to parry the vicious swing the Zabrak took at his head.  He redirected the apprentice’s momentum, sending him tumbling past so he could meet the follow-up attack from Qui-Gon.  The big Jedi Master came in high, an overhand attack meant to split Kenobi’s head open.  Rather than meet strength with strength – a futile strategy in this case – Kenobi sidestepped, blurring his blade into a chop at Qui-Gon’s leg.  True to his Ataru form, Qui-Gon launched himself into a somersault rather than try deflection.

The momentary opening was all Kenobi needed.  He seized the decoy Queen with the Force and sent her hurtling straight through a window into the open air.  The ground was hundreds of feet below.

Qui-Gon sensed the move.  As soon as he landed he thrust a hand out toward the decoy, arresting her fall with the Force.  Drawing her back inside would be no mean feat, and that would give Kenobi time to fix the battlefield in his favor.

Maul was bounding toward him again, both ends of his saberstaff activated now.  Kenobi let himself fall back, giving ground as his opponent threw lightning-fast flurries with the humming blades.  He was careful to choose the direction of his retreat, however, rather than let himself be steered.  After only ten seconds’ combat he was backing through the throne room entrance, Maul pressing him relentlessly.

A final step over the threshold brought Maul out of the throne room.  Immediately, Kenobi stretched out with the Force to the throne and hit the panic button concealed in the right armrest.  A huge metal security door slammed down in the Zabrak’s wake.  He could hear other doors slamming into place over the windows, and he idly wondered if Qui-Gon had gotten the false Queen inside or if she was now plummeting to her death.

“Your Master is trapped in there,” Kenobi said with a grin.  “Do you think you can win against me alone?”

Maul stared at him.  “I do not need to win.  Only wait.”  He flicked his eyes to the security door.  “Master should be through that in minutes.”

Kenobi let his other lightsaber drop into his off-hand.  “That’s all I need.”

“Confident.”  Maul smiled thinly.  “Especially for someone whose plan failed.  We sent starfighters to destroy your control ship if the negotiations were a trap.  As they obviously were.”

“So that’s what happened.”  Kenobi shrugged.  “I’ll admit disappointment that it didn’t work, but you overestimate the amount I care.  And what frustration I _do_ feel, I can take out on a convenient target.”

Maul whirled his saberstaff about his body.  “I promise you will not find me _convenient,_ Sith.”

“My name is Venge,” Kenobi told him.  “I’m telling you as a courtesy.  So you know who killed you.”

He charged.

**To Be Concluded**


	2. Maul

It took only one pass for Maul to intuit that he was better than Venge.

Not by much.  Not by more than a hair’s breadth, even.  But the difference was there.  And in a lightsaber duel, such a difference might as well be a vast gulf, if measured by its significance to the outcome.

The key was in their choice of weapons.  Both of them, though they practiced different technical styles, chose to employ the Jar’kai dual-blade form.  The saberstaff was far more limited in the techniques it could perform than double sabers, but Maul had the speed and focus to keep up with Venge’s assault.  The deciding factor, then, was the fact that the saberstaff allowed Maul to apply the strength of both his arms to any given block or attack.

The double sabers did not let Venge do the same.  And Maul was stronger than him, as well as almost half again his weight in muscle without sacrificing speed.

Sensing his advantage, Maul pressed the attack.  He threw a blindingly fast series of arrhythmic cuts at Venge’s face and legs, forcing the Sith to split his defense rather than be able to use both sabers to block single strikes.  Venge gave ground, hatred blazing in his yellow eyes – though his teeth were bared in a savage grin which suggested he was having _fun._   He clearly recognized his disadvantage, but it didn’t seem to faze him.  Maul vowed to stay on guard for tricks.

He transitioned from his staccato chops into a rising tornado, whirling the saberstaff around his body in a wild and erratic orbit.  He kept the pressure on, forcing Venge toward a wall niche in the throne room’s antechamber where the Sith would be unable to maneuver.

However, Venge was no fool.  He knew what Maul was trying to do.  Two quick steps back – a choice which took him dangerously close to the trap of the niche, but one which Maul had not anticipated – bought him the room he needed.  Maul broke off his rising tornado sequence to block the double overhand swing Venge threw.  The move, though easy to read, was powerful enough that Maul had to turn it aside rather than stop it head-on.  Venge let the redirected momentum pull him after his sabers, carrying him safely around to Maul’s side – out of the path toward the niche.

His tempo disrupted, Maul shifted to defense, letting Venge move in on the attack.  Qui-Gon had described to Maul the hybrid Soresu-Ataru form Venge had used with one saber, but now that he was wielding two the Sith switched to Makashi.  The Contention Form’s focus on precision and one-handed moves took full advantage of Venge’s chosen armament.  He struck with lightning-fast and brutally accurate jabs and cuts, avoiding sweeps and other dramatic moves which would leave him vulnerable.  For all his terrifying precision, however, he lacked the power to break Maul’s defense, and his speed was insufficient to baffle the Zabrak.  He would try something else soon, Maul was certain.

Only a moment after that thought flicked across the Jedi’s mind, Venge started talking.  “You’re well-trained,” he said, withdrawing a pace and circling.  “For a Jedi slave.”

Maul remained silent.  He’d heard of this: Dun Möch, an attempt to cause a Jedi to give into his anger and expose himself to Dark Side influence.  If a Jedi tried to fight a Sith on such terms, the Jedi would be vulnerable.

“Hard to believe Qui-Gon is your master,” Venge continued.  “You’re just as skilled as he is, perhaps more so.  And yet you blindly serve _his_ will.  He’s holding you back.”

“Your Sith tricks are useless here,” Maul said, happy to let Venge talk.  He could sense his Master going to work on the security door trapping him inside the throne room.  “I do not crave power.”

“No, people don’t tend to crave things they have more than enough of already,” Venge agreed philosophically.  “ _You_ want something else.  Stability, perhaps.  Or recognition.”  He paused, looking Maul in the eye, and the Zabrak could see the gears turning.

“Or,” the Sith suggested softly, “self-control.”

Something in Maul’s expression, or perhaps his Force signature, gave away the jolt of shame and anger he felt at the words.  Venge seized on it, hurling himself at Maul, sabers blurring.  Suddenly he seemed twice as fast as before, and the strikes Maul had easily stayed ahead of now tested the very limits of his defensive ability.  He hissed involuntarily as one of Venge’s blades came within a hair’s breadth of scoring his throat before he could sweep it aside.

Venge kept talking, his tone gloating.  “That’s it.  You have power, but you’re afraid of it.  Of _yourself._   And it’s one of your Jedi axioms that fear is a path to the Dark Side.  Your fear makes you weak!”

Maul snarled and stopped defending, throwing himself into a vicious sequence of Juyo moves designed to unbalance an opponent’s guard.  Venge met the assault without blinking, slowing, or – unfortunately for Maul – shutting up.  “There’s the anger!  But you don’t use it.  You don’t trust yourself to.  It’s like refusing to use a limb!  You’re handicapping yourself!”

“A limb that can only destroy,” Maul growled.

“Destruction is _necessary._   You could be so much more than you are!”  Venge swept Maul’s attack away and delivered a kick to his gut, sending the Zabrak staggering back two paces before he recovered.  “You could have power,” Venge said, “like mine.”

He slashed at Maul’s chest.  The strike was fast, just as fast as the others, but not unexpected.  Maul automatically moved his lightsaber to intercept.

An instant before their blades clashed, Venge deactivated his lightsaber.  Maul, every instinct expecting a block, a contest of strength, overextended by a hair.

Venge’s saber blazed back to life a moment later.  He swept it up inside Maul’s guard.

The Force warned Maul, of course.  He was already leaping back, arching his body away.  But he was too slow.  There was a terrible wash of heat which sliced up along his torso, and he felt his saberstaff spark and flash as one of the emitters died, cleaved away.

Maul landed three meters away, somewhat surprised to still be alive.  Venge’s saber had burned a furrow through the flesh of his chest, but had not done fatal damage.  One end of Maul’s saberstaff still functioned.  He could still fight.

With a smirk, Venge flourished his sabers, extinguishing and reigniting the blades in a staggeringly quick sequence of stuttering hisses and whines.  “Use your anger,” he said.  “Or the next time won’t just be a flesh wound.”

He leapt at Maul, and the Zabrak was forced to fall back before the onslaught.  Venge’s Tràkata technique, his secret weapon, was flawless.  Every attack could suddenly become a feint, throwing off Maul’s defense.  Every feint could become an attack, the extension of the activating lightsaber blade serving as a fatal thrust or swipe.  And yet Venge never failed to have a blade active to parry the occasional strike Maul managed to attempt.  Fighting Venge with all his powers unleashed was like fighting a storm: the Sith whirled back and forth, untouchable and unpredictable, but merciless and relentless in his advance.

Maul began to feel desperation clawing at him, disrupting his calm and connection to the Force.  He reached for his serenity, his training, but they slipped away.

The voices began whispering to him again.

_The Sith is right.  You handicap yourself out of fear.  He would be nothing if you used your anger._

“No,” Maul gasped even as he struggled to keep Venge at bay.  This was not right.  He was a Jedi.  Jedi did not allow their anger to control them.

Venge pressed him, sensing Maul’s efforts falter as he struggled internally.  “Give in!” the Sith laughed.  “Make it interesting for me, at the very least!”  He grinned wickedly.  “If you pose enough of a challenge, maybe I won’t have the strength left to kill your master after I kill you.”

The fury rose in Maul, scorching and hungry.  He recoiled instinctively, waging an impossible two-front battle, knowing that he was moments from death but unable to find tranquility or acceptance.

 _Because you don’t want to die!_ the voices shouted.  _Because you know it would be pointless!  Use your anger and kill him!  KILL HIM!_

Venge trapped Maul’s single remaining blade between his own, kicked off the ground into a whirling handless somersault.  Maul’s saber went flying from his grip.

The voices spoke again, but this time it was different.  Quieter.  Maul recognized the soft tones of Master Yoda, from their conversation in the Jedi Temple’s depths.

“Deny their darkness, some Jedi can.  For you, not an option, that is.  Inherently a weakness, it is not.  It may be turned to a strength with training.”

He’d had no time for the kind of training Yoda had meant.  But it was clear: he either needed to tap his anger, or die.

Maul reached out and touched the raging inferno burning at the very core of his being.  It leaped and roared at his contact, trying to draw him in, to take him over, but he refused.  He would use the anger, not be used by it.  He was a Jedi.  If he died with this anger in his heart, it would be because he had invited it in, not because he had surrendered to it.

Energy flowed back into his limbs.  His connection to the Force surged.  Venge was thrusting a deactivated lightsaber at him, seemingly moving in slow motion.  Maul could actually track it with his eyes as the red blade sprang from the emitter, extending toward his upper heart.

His instinct, his desire, was to surrender to the fire coursing through his blood, to let it guide his limbs into a crushing, fatal strike to the Sith’s throat.  It would be so easy.

But it was not what a Jedi _should_ do.

Maul recalled his self-taught training in Teräs Käsi, dredged from records in the Jedi Archives.  Most Jedi learned only rudimentary hand-to-hand combat, and furthermore disdained the Steel Hands in particular due to its anti-Jedi roots.  But Maul believed in preparation for any circumstance, and now that would save his life.

He dropped into a beast-rider’s stance, knees bent, feet apart, utterly stable.  Snaking his left hand around the incoming saber, he delivered an almost casual backhand slap to the inside of Venge’s wrist, altering the trajectory of the Sith’s weapon so it would miss his body.

Venge, unable to halt his momentum, ran straight into the chambered punch Maul delivered with his right hand and the full power of his rage.

The blow literally lifted the Sith off his feet, the air escaping his lungs in a great whooshing gasp of pain.  He flew four meters before smashing into one of the pillars lining the walls of the antechamber.  The impact sent dust and chips of stone exploding in all directions as the thick pillar cracked nearly in half.

He landed on his feet, but dropped to one knee a moment later.  A stuttering inhalation ended in a cough which spewed blood onto the pristine, glossy floor.

Then, a moment later, Qui-Gon burned through the security door.

Maul stayed in his beast-rider’s stance, breathing hard, ready to call his lightsaber back to his hand.  It had taken every ounce of will he possessed not to rip out the Sith’s throat, but he had done what a Jedi should.

“Yield,” Qui-Gon said, striding to place himself between Maul and Venge.  “You’re injured and you have no chance against both of us.”  Though he couldn’t see his Master’s face, Maul could hear the pain in his voice as the older Jedi spoke.  “We can help you.  The Dark Side is insidious and powerful, but it is not the only way.”  He extended a hand toward Venge.  “Come with us.”

For just a brief moment, Maul thought he saw the yellow glow of Venge’s eyes fade.  There was a look on his face, a look of – what?  Regret?  Temptation?

Sorrow?

Then his eyes hardened and blazed yellow again.  “Please,” Venge sneered.  “Only a fool forsakes power for slavery.  Naboo is just the beginning, ‘Master’ Qui-Gon.  I _will_ see you both again, and I _will_ kill you.”

And before Qui-Gon or Maul could move to stop him, he hurled himself straight through the security glass of a window into the space above the gardens.

Both Jedi rushed to the window, but there was no sign of the Sith anywhere.  As far as they could tell, Venge was simply – gone.

“Do you think he was telling the truth, Master?” Maul asked.

Qui-Gon looked stricken.  “Of that, my young Padawan,” he said, “I have no doubt.”

* * *

Kenobi’s personal starship, a stygium-cloaked Sith Infiltrator, was one of the fastest ships in the galaxy.  It took him only two days to reach Coruscant.

He was still injured and in pain when he arrived in his Master’s quarters in 500 Republica via the secret turbolift access.  Kenobi expected there would be far more pain and injury to come when he admitted his failure to Darth Sidious.

Sidious was seated at his desk in his study, poring over a datapad as Kenobi entered.  The elder Sith looked up and scanned his apprentice from head to foot.

“You were beaten,” he said.  It was not a question.

“Yes, Master,” Kenobi replied with a wince.

With a thought, Sidious floated a different datapad to him.  “There is much you need to hear,” he said.

Kenobi looked at the datapad.  It displayed a news story: Senator Palpatine, named Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.  It must have occurred while Kenobi had been in hyperspace.  “Congratulations, Master,” he said.

“Read further.”

Forcing his tired eyes to focus, Kenobi did so.  Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s first official act –

“A co-Chancellor?” he asked, confused.  “Hego Damask?”

There was movement behind him.  He whirled, caught off-guard.  Towering over him was a tall, spindly Muun, a breath mask affixed to the lower half of his face and the Dark Side blazing in his sunken eyes.

“ _You_ ,” the Muun said in a deep, hollow voice, “will address me as Darth Plagueis.”


End file.
